


Screams Like Fire

by icedlattetall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi, Prince of The Seven Seas, Rimming, Side Story, bottom!Louis, protective!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedlattetall/pseuds/icedlattetall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things break. And sometimes, things burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screams Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story for Prince of the Seven Seas, so if you haven't read it yet, I highly encourage you to visit this link http://oxeh.tumblr.com/POTSS and prepare to CRY and have your heart ripped out because who doesn't love Pirate!Harry?! This is one of my favorite AU! fics ever; this one shot is basically a product of all my feels. There is torture in here, I'm not sure it would qualify as truly graphic, but please be aware if this is a trigger for you. Enjoy!  
> Tumblr: icedlattetall.tumblr.com

 

In all his years of braving the ocean, Captain Styles has never gotten in a serious scuffle with an octopus, but he imagines this is probably what it feels like.

                He’s lying on the bed, nude save for the light sheet covering his waist, watching the morning sunlight filter in lazily to his cabin. Louis is deeply asleep, curled in so tightly to the Captain’s side that Harry swears the royal has left a permanent imprint. Golden arms are ensnaring the Captain’s waist, one deliciously thick thigh thrown over the pirate’s waist, with a pair of small tan hands resting at his back. He can feel Louis’ every breath fluttering against his neck, slow, steady, and reassuring.

                This is his absolute favorite part of everyday, outstripping counting his treasures and terrorizing Eleanor by far, although both of those activities bring him immense enjoyment. He likes it best in the early morning, when nobody is awake but him, and Louis’ conscious mind hasn’t kicked in yet to tell him to roll away from the Captain with a sneer.  

                Unconscious Louis seems to be the one that likes Harry best, which is actually pretty pathetic, now that Harry thinks about it. He shakes these disturbing thoughts from his head, preferring instead to watch the way Louis’ eyelashes brush his cheek as they flutter open, a yawn stretching pale pink lips that Harry would rather have for breakfast than whatever slop the cook had thrown together in the gallery that day. The pirate quickly tightens his hold on the Prince, figuring that he has about two seconds before Louis pushes him off with a sneer, and wanting to feel as much sun-kissed skin as possible before the inevitable happens.

                Instead, Harry feels a light huff of breath against the pulse throbbing in his neck, and Louis merely settles into Harry’s grip, thigh tightening against the other’s slim torso. Harry freezes, the feeling of a cold nose nuzzling into his collarbone being completely foreign to him, and Louis’ eyes pool with amusement at the Captain’s discomfort.

                “What’s wrong, Hazza?” Louis murmurs into Harry’s skin, the words glossing over him like a light sheen of sweat. 

                “What do you think you’re doing, Princess?” Harry counters, distracted from berating Louis for using an offensive nickname because of the deft fingers _tap-tap-tapping_ a rhythm at the base of his spine.  Louis’ answering grin is slow and syrupy, thoroughly clouded with sleep.

                “I don’t know. I’m cold and I’m sleepy and you’re warm and you smell nice.” Harry accepts this with a snort before pulling the blankets more securely around Louis, inwardly cursing himself for his constant need to cater to Louis’ every whim. Louis gazes up at him from underneath his fringe, the smirk curving his lips confirming Harry’s fears that Louis knows exactly what effect he has on the Captain.

                “You can be cold all you like, but sleepy won’t work much longer. We’ve got to get up. That delicious bum of yours is quite like the rising sun: It brightens everyone’s day with its round warmth.” Harry says matter-of-factly, his brain screaming at him to attend to the mountain of duties awaiting on deck, but his biceps resolutely refusing to unclench and release Louis.

                It seems Louis’ body has the same idea, as the pirate is pulled even closer to the Prince, given a perfect view of his displeased glower.

                “Why can’t you just stay in today with me? I told you, I still want to sleep and you’re nice and warm. You never take a day off. Come on, Liam is more than capable of running the ship without you. Honestly, he lets you be Captain out of kindness, not superior skill.” Louis purses his lips, and Harry attempts to focus on the insults studded in the Prince’s words instead of the elated tango his insides are doing in response to Louis’ desire to spend time with him.

                “Not all of us are born with a silver spoon shoved down our throats. I have to work to eat.” Harry manages, untangling himself from the Prince’s grasp. Louis huffs, offended, and rolls away from Harry.

                “Whatever. Go shoot somebody and steal their rubies or whatever the hell it is that pirates do.” Louis mutters, his face muffled in the pillow. Harry frowns at Louis’ tone, not just sassy, but actually irritated and maybe a bit hurt. He leans over and smacks a sloppy kiss to the Prince’s shoulders, but Louis just waves him off with a hand and burrows further into the covers.

                Harry’s not in the mood to stay and soothe a pouty Princess, so he goes on and finds his various clothing items strewn around the bedroom, unfortunately the product of his lack of neatness instead of a passionate round with Louis the night before. Once fully dressed, he slips out of the bedroom and into the study, resolving to make it up to Louis later with a special lunch, or maybe an hour free of sexual innuendos.

                He finally makes it out on deck, the tangy sea breeze carrying a strong whiff of salt. He sees Liam approaching from his peripheral vision and turns to greet his First Mate, quashing his desire to be back in bed, curled around Louis.

                “Captain, our lookouts have spotted another ship fast approaching.” Liam informs him breathlessly, gesturing to the towering crow’s nest. Harry’s eyes flicker to the horizon and quickly locate a brownish white smudge, growing larger every moment.

                “Merchant or pirate?” Harry inquires, hand instinctively drifting to his cutlass. Liam’s countenance is grim, answering the question for him.

                “Pirate. Doesn’t look like any ship we know, though. We might be in for a bit of a scuffle.”

 

                Over the next half hour, the ship draws steadily nearer. The crew on deck is watching intently, everybody armed to the teeth, with Louis and Eleanor following exceedingly strict instructions to remain in Harry’s  cabin. Louis fights this decision noisily for a while, protesting that his prowess with a sword could be helpful, but increasingly stormy looks from Harry wear him down, and he eventually retreats sulkily to the study, Eleanor in tow.

                The ship is now nearly passing the One Direction, and everybody waits with baited breath. Harry can just make out the blurred outlines of crew members upon the other ship, their crimson flag flying high above the rigging.

                The two ships drift closer and closer together, pushed by the rocking motions of the waves, as faces begin to emerge from the blurs.

                “We don’t want any trouble!” A burly blonde man calls out, a scarlet bandanna tied around his forehead. “Let’s just pass each other peacefully and be on our way, I doubt your treasure could hold a candle to ours anyway!” Harry snorts doubtfully at those words, but Liam calls back to the pirate eagerly, expressing a desire to keep the meeting peaceful as well.

                It seems the boats will pass on without incident, and a collective sigh of relief is heaved.  Before Harry’s hand leaves his cutlass, however, another silhouette emerges upon the other ship’s deck, one whose sharp profile is terrifyingly familiar. The figure turns and seems to spot the curly-haired captain as well. The two are locked in a burning gaze before-

                “Wait a moment, that’s Captain Styles! Capture him and kill the others! Attack!”

Immediately, the other ship’s crew members swing into action, ropes with grappling hooks attached to the ends locking on to the One Direction’s sides and stringing the two ships together, pirates swarming over to the One Direction’s deck quickly.

                Battle commences immediately, the smoke of gunfire and clanging of swords filling the senses. Zayn and Liam are battling two pirates each, a snarl etched on both faces as they desperately attempt to keep attackers away from Niall, who is wedged securely in between their backs. Danielle is holding her own against men three times her size, sword already dripping in blood and thirsty for more. Harry, however, is singled out by the silhouette from before, familiar features drawing closer and closer.

                “Oh, hey, Nathan. Kind of you to drop in.” Harry greets him carelessly, drawing his sword. Captain Sykes merely sneers at that, drawing his own sword from its sheath.

                “Haven’t seen you for a while, Styles. Fancy it’s about time I rearrange your face.” Harry can’t help but roll his eyes at Nathan’s dramatics. The captain of The Wanted had always been jealous of Harry’s quick rise to infamy and his superior dueling skills, but to attack an entire ship and risk his crew just to nurse his wounded pride is a bit much.

                “I suppose I could do with some dueling practice.” Harry yawns offhandedly, casually sweeping his sword towards the other pirate’s torso, a move which Nathan neatly sidesteps. The two pirates quickly engage into fast and furious fighting, Harry grudgingly admitting that Sykes has improved exponentially since the last time they fought.

                Harry didn’t become the Prince of the Seven Seas for nothing, however, and he soon gains the upper hand. He’s about to deliver the final crushing blow, when-

                “Harry!” Feeling his heart stutter fearfully in his chest, the captain slowly turns, following the voice he’d know anywhere.

                It’s Louis. Of course it’s Louis. Harry can’t see him, his view blocked by three menacing pirates forcing their way into his study, but Harry can hear him. He can hear Eleanor’s panicked shrieks, hear the swishing of a sword, hear thumps of knuckles hitting flesh, hear Louis screaming at the pirates to leave his friends alone.

                The battle seems to fall away, Harry’s mind concentrating on one thing and one thing only: getting to the Prince before any hands can touch him that aren’t attached to Harry. His distraction proves his downfall, however, as Nathan takes advantage of his vulnerable state to press a rusty cutlass to his neck.

                “Gotcha.” Is the last thing Harry’s mind registers, before a heavy blow to the back of the head has sent him spiraling into blackness.

 

                When he comes to, the pirate captain is chained hand and foot to a metal pole in a dungeon. Countless vermin scuttle over the floor, and Harry consoles himself with that fact that he’ll have plenty of furry friends to cuddle tonight. The familiar swaying motion of his body informs him that he’s most likely in the brig of The Wanted, still out on open seas. He stretches carefully, wincing at the soreness throbbing in the back of his head and squinting at his chains, which are unfortunately quite well made.

                “Louis?” He manages to rasp out, voice low and gravelly from lack of water. The dungeon is lit by a single swaying lantern hung on the ceiling, but its light is too dim for Harry to properly see into the dark crevices of the room.

               “Harry?” A voice issues from the corner, and a chained figure shuffles forward, the lantern’s glow revealing his face. The towering quiff informs Harry that’s it’s Zayn, not his lover, but relief floods through him regardless.

                “Mate, what happened?” Harry questions urgently, straining uselessly against his metal bonds but being stubborn enough to keep struggling.

                “After you got knocked out by Nathan, we kept fighting. You, Eleanor, and Louis all got dragged onto their ship…then, I got caught after this absolute _dickhead_ went after Niall and I got distracted and tried to stop him. The rest managed to hold them off though, I’m guessing that we’ve got a couple of prisoners of theirs as well. “

                Harry digests this information silently, thoughts fleeting to Louis every second, hoping with every cell in his body to hear his beloved Prince’s voice once more.

                Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierces the air, apparently coming from the cell next to the pirate captain’s.  The voice chokes off into a groan, and then a weak but indignant “How dare you touch me?”

                Harry’s blood freezes into ice, solidifying in his veins. He hears the thud of a cane of some sort and an injured whimpering. He feels his head rocking from side to side, eyes clenched shut tightly. It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, but it is. Harry would follow that voice to the ends of the earth, and there’s no doubt that it’s his beautiful Prince that’s being tortured not thirty feet away from where Harry is chained.

                It seems like the very worst kind of a cruel joke now. Just moments ago, Harry had been fervently praying for a chance to hear Louis’ voice, and now his prayers are answered in full force.  He can’t ignore the Prince’s anguished groans, can’t ignore the sound of beating, can’t ignore the way the screams literally _burn_ , their flames licking at Harry’s skin until he’s positive his skin has blistered into nothingness.

                He hears muffled snarling, most likely from Louis’ captors, and the sassy tone of voice Louis responds with is rewarded with a quick blow, forcing an involuntary keen of pain from the royal. A new set of vicious thuds echoes from the other room, and Harry struggles for a moment to place the sound, horribly familiar, before he realizes with a sickening lurch that Louis is being pistol-whipped.

                Zayn’s eyes are wide and horrified, but he’s too calm, and Harry doesn’t understand, can’t understand why Zayn isn’t writhing, why Zayn isn’t in absolute excruciating pain as well, don’t Louis’ screams burn him, can’t he feel  himself incinerating alive?

                The answer is apparently no, as Zayn still has enough control to form sentences, Zayn still speaks.

                “Harry, Harry, shh, mate, come on, we’ll rescue him I promise, just...mate, come on, don’t, shh…” Zayn pleads a bit frantically, and Harry wonders why the tan male is more disturbed by the captain instead of by the blatant torture occurring in the adjoining room. It finally dawns on him that along with the thuds of beating and Louis’ painful whimpers, Harry’s been thrashing and screaming  as well, all pretenses of composure wiped away by Louis’ pain.

                Zayn’s probably never seen the captain like this before, Harry thinks, but that would be because nothing’s hurt like this before. Nothing’s truly scalded him from the inside out the way this pain is, not even with the deaths of his mother and sister. Those had been short, practically painless, but this…hearing the dragged out suffering of a loved one so tantalizingly close, this is torture like Harry’s never known.

                The sharp, smacking sound finally ceases, but Louis’ muffled sobs do not, and Harry’s heart seems to wrench itself out of his chest in a desperate attempt to get to Louis. He can hear the door to the other room being opened, the depraved criminal who tortured Louis stalking out, heavy footsteps lumbering down the hallway, and finally, a click of the door to their own cell being slowly opened.

                “Not so high and mighty now, huh, Styles?” Harry hears, seeing a familiar scruffy face loom above him. It’s not Nathan, but his First Mate, a despicable pirate that Harry has bested in every swordfight they’ve ever faced off in, a fact that causes this man endless annoyance.

                Harry opens his mouth to retort angrily, before noticing that the man’s hands are spattered with blood, and he’s casually wiping them on his coarse linen trousers. _That’s Louis’ blood_ , he thinks, _that stuff is more precious than any treasure, and he’s wiping it off on his pants._

                It’s this simple fact that makes Harry’s vision mist over into a deep crimson, the anger boiling through his veins. Harry lashes out at the pirate, his manacles adding weight to his blows, successfully bringing the man down to his knees with the force of his pain.

                “What the hell are you trying to do?” roars the man, furious and red-faced, spittle flying everywhere. Harry merely responds with another swing of his chained hands, the metal making a satisfying crunching sound as it connects with the pirate’s nose and knocks him out in one fell swoop.

                His chains are stained with blood, his lungs heaving frantically with the weight of his fury, and Harry can’t help but note with satisfaction that the man is covered in his own blood now, not Louis’.

                He quickly searches the pirate’s pockets and comes up, triumphantly, with a key. Unlocking his wrists and ankles, Harry hurries over to where Zayn is huddled in the corner, looking slightly terrified and awestruck at the looming hulk of a man that Harry had just completely dismantled without a weapon.  

                Finally shucking their chains off, the pair stands up and rubs at sore wrists before proceeding to the door.  Zayn gives Harry a wary look, as if worried that the captain is going to begin a raving rampage throughout the ship, but Harry merely steps out into the hallway and opens the door to the cell on their right.

                It’s a dank, musty room, much like the one the pair had just left. They see Eleanor’s pale and shaken form, chained and shivering, cheeks streaked with tears and dirt. Her eyes are wide and panicked, but she seems otherwise unhurt. Zayn rushes to her aid quickly, snagging the key from Harry and freeing her, but the captain is otherwise occupied, eyes sweeping the room frantically for Louis.

                He finally spots him, a tiny curled ball in the corner. Chains run from his ankles and feet to metal pole as well, but the floor around him is stained with blood. Several deep cuts run along his arms and legs, horrific bruises are developing all over his body, and his nose has been reduced to a mangled, bloodied mess. 

                Harry can’t help the half strangled cry that emits from his throat, a broken “ _Lou”_ rasping out like a plea, as he drops to his knees to caress the injured face he knows so well. Louis is too pliant, however, too soft in his arms, his head lolling dangerously from side to side, eyes welded shut. 

                Harry notices a single, glittering tear track tracing down Louis’ cheek, and it’s this that makes the captain snap.

                “Somebody, somewhere, is going to pay for this.”

 

                “Ouch, El, that _stings_.”

                “It’ll help you heal, I promise.”

                “I thought nurses were supposed to make patients feel better, not _inflict serious pain_.” Louis glares at his best friend, one hand pressing gently upon a nasty wound on his forearm that was bleeding copiously.

                They’re back on the One Direction, safe and sound after a vicious and eventful escape from The Wanted. It turns out Liam had been tailing them, attempting to devise a rescue plan, but then Harry had escaped and fallen into some sort of bloodlust, quickly downing everyone who got in the way and tying up the crew members who were more compliant. Eventually, the ships were able to meet up and Louis, Eleanor, Zayn, and Harry were able to return, not before, however, Harry had sliced off an ear of Captain Sykes and his First Mate.

                That side of Harry honestly terrifies Louis, and he’s been unsure of how to act around Captain Styles since their return. Instead, he’s been hiding out with El, which has the unfortunate side effect of being forced to swallow bitter medicines and endure stinging ointments all in the name of his improved health.

                Danielle’s eyes are beginning to narrow dangerously at Louis as the Prince frowns at the nurse again, swatting her hand off of his wounds.

                “Just wrap the bandage back around it, I’m _fine_.”He insists huffily, and Eleanor complies, finishing the dressing just as Captain Styles enters the room.

                Eleanor squeaks in mixed terror and surprise, dropping a jar of salve and blushing, attempting to shield herself behind Danielle. Harry merely rolls his eyes and asks to speak with Louis.

                It’s an insignificant request, so Harry’s unsure of why his stomach is suddenly rolling in time with the sea, or his hands shake the tiniest bit. It’s just that Louis’ been so distant since their return to the ship, and Harry can’t help but think that the Prince is angry, angry that Harry had let him become so hurt.

                It is Harry’s fault, after all. If Harry had just stayed in bed with Louis like the Prince had asked, he wouldn’t have been on deck and Nathan would have never recognized him. Louis would have been spared all this pain.

                It’s the Prince’s voice that jolts him out of this train of thought, the sound floating sweetly between them, but the words spiced with cheek.

                “ You gonna just stare at my face, or are we going to talk?” Louis quirks his eyebrows, and Harry shakes out of his reverie, placing a large hand on Louis’ back to lead him in the direction of Harry’s study.

                The pair walks in silence, Louis’ eyes glassy and staring up at the night sky while Harry’s eyes are smoldering and staring at Louis. They finally reach the door to Harry’s cabin, and he pushes it open without preamble, letting Louis inside.

                “So what’s this that we’re talking abou-“ Louis query dies quickly on his lips as Harry slams the door shut and crowds the Prince up against it, tongue licking filthily into Louis’ mouth.

                “I was hoping we wouldn’t talk too much, actually.” Harry admits, biting at Louis lower lip and jaw. He’s not saying it to be cheesy, but because he actually needs it. He can’t have Louis voice sound without a faint, burning memory of those horrific screams he heard in the dungeon, can’t hear his flow of words without remembering the pain that had filled them.

                Harry moves quickly to Louis’ neck, suckling a love bite in the hollow of his throat, and he feels Louis’ pulse quicken, thrumming under his skin.  He quickly rids Louis of his shirt and gets a hand under each thick thigh, hitching Louis’ legs up around his waist and pressing him closer against the door.

                Leaning down, Harry traces the tip of his tongue around a small pink nipple, smirking against Louis skin when he feels his back arch. He carefully tugs at the sensitive nub with his teeth before bringing it into his mouth with soft lips. He feels hands carding through his hair, which Harry is perfectly fine with, but then Louis moans. Loudly.

                Harry’s head snaps back up, eyes filled with black fire. Louis’ moans are the sweetest form of music he knows, but now their sound is tainted by a darker one, a fleeting memory of the anguished moans that had once ripped out of that throat and the suffering endured. The sound ignites a spark of pain in Harry’s stomach, and he can’t help but hear tortured Louis instead of the very, very pleased but impatient one right in front of him.

                “Harry, come on, don’t tease.” Louis whines, bucking his hips against Harry’s. Harry feels Louis hardness, hot and insistent within his trousers. The captain turns and carries Louis to the bed, sitting him down on the edge of it and helping him kick his trousers and underwear off. He reaches forward with an absurdly large hand and palms at Louis’ cock, an action that’s met with a breathy sigh of _Harry_.  

                Harry shudders at that, his hand stilling. It’s his absolute favorite when Louis says the pirate’s name in bed, when the royal is so far gone he can’t do anything but chant Harry’s name and it always sounds so _good._ But this, this doesn’t feel right. Harry can still hear a different Louis, one that screamed Harry’s name from this very study in a desperate cry for help, but in vain.

                He can’t do this anymore, it’ll drive him crazy. Harry can’t live with this phantom of tortured Louis dogging his steps, he needs this Louis, this safe and happy and horny Louis to be louder than the sadder one that Harry rescued. He needs his Louis to be louder, to be more concrete, to pull Harry back from those darker times.

                Harry suddenly makes up his mind and unceremoniously flips Louis over on his stomach, causing an angry squawk from the Prince, his head shoved face down into a pillow. He lovingly caresses the bum he adores, before spreading the cheeks gently to reveal Louis’ puckered entrance. Leaning down, he flicks his tongue against the hole, tracing circles around the rim. The effect is instantaneous.

                “Oh, oh, oh, _Harry_ , yes!” Louis moans brokenly, fisting the sheets and writhing. Harry carefully clamps his hips down with two hands before resuming his work. He laps gently around the hole, sweeping the flat of his tongue over it before sucking vigorously.

                “Yes, yes, yes, Harry…” Louis cries out, thighs trembling, his feathered hair dampening by sweat. Harry can’t help but smile, knowing this is exactly what he needs. Tortured Louis is slowly fading, but this quivering, delicious wreck of a boy is very, very real, right in front of him.

                Harry’s back is aching a bit though, so he grips two hands around Louis middle and pulls him up on all fours for easier access. Moving back in, he eases his tongue inside Louis’ heat before licking and fluttering his tongue against the walls, sliding in and out slowly. Louis actually _sobs_ at that, cries leaving his throat, as he drops down to his forearms, his arse being pushed further into Harry’s ravaging mouth.

                Harry pushes in and out, kissing sweetly at the rim and rubbing his tongue back and forth. He swipes at the hole with his tongue, licking lines criss-crossing in every direction. Louis is whimpering and shaking, a steady stream of _Harry_ tumbling out of his mouth.

                “Do you want more?” Harry purrs, undeniably pleased with Louis’ responsiveness. Louis’ eyes are huge and unfocused as he turns to look at Harry, head nodding frantically.

                “Yeah, yes, Harry, _please._ Just-more, I need it, please, I-“ His pleas cut off with a choke, as Harry has just inserted a finger deep into his heat, and is licking carefully around it.

                Harry establishes a rough and dirty rhythm with his finger before resuming his kissing and sucking around it, Louis’ entrance fluttering under all of the attention. He twists in a second finger, gratified by a high-pitched keen from Louis, who begins wailing happily at the intense pleasure.

                “Oh, Harry, oh, Harry, ohhh…Har…Har-“ Louis’ jaw falls slack, eventually becoming so incoherent that even Harry’s name is a struggle for him. Harry adores this, loves how Louis is just helplessly falling apart on his fingers, on his tongue, loves how he’s completely spread out and begging for it. He wants to see Louis lose it completely, wants to _hear_ Louis lose it completely.

                He begins pressing in more rapidly with his fingers, his tongue suckling roughly at Louis’ rim, wanting to push him over the edge. Louis begins thrashing against the pillows, his gasps and pants rising in a cacophonous symphony, until finally, with one last twirl of Harry’s fingers, Louis is tumbling head first into orgasm, tears streaming down his cheeks.

                Harry thinks of the other tear that had stained Louis face, in the dungeon, and can’t help but think that the way his face is glazed now is much prettier.

                Louis is sleepily content now, but Harry’s cock has been straining against his trousers for some time now, and it’s becoming incredibly impatient. Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t protest when Harry rolls him over again and carefully spreads his legs, only squeaking the tiniest bit when Harry finally presses in, the oversensitivity proving to be too much.

                It’s only when Harry is able to coax a second climax out of a mewling Louis, only when Harry is able to come deep inside him, only when he’s able to gather this beautiful, ruined, pretty boy in his arms, that the pirate feels he’s gotten Louis back.

                The next morning, when Louis wants to cuddle instead of getting up, Harry doesn’t raise a finger to stop him.

                


End file.
